


creature of habit

by pearlsugar



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Changing Tenses, Drabble, M/M, Mentioned Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Random prompt, Sad Ending, Suicide, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlsugar/pseuds/pearlsugar
Summary: It had been three weeks since Chittaphon died.





	creature of habit

**Author's Note:**

> At about 4am some months ago, I was in a pretty deep depression and wanted to get some feelings out through my writing. I used a randomizer to choose two words (they ended up being "fold" and "unused") to conjure up an idea for a short work. The result is pretty depressing, but it was written as a reflection of my mental state and as a coping mechanism for me. 
> 
> I am not, nor will I ever be encouraging suicide or self-endangering behavior, and if you are sensitive to topics such as death, suicide, etc, this disaster of a drabble may be better off unread. I'd also like to think that this work isn't indicative of my skill as a writer, but I have nothing else to show for myself as of now. Even still, take this fic with a grain of salt.
> 
> Cheers.

_ 1/1. _

Johnny folds the unused tablecloth back up for the third Friday night in a row. He had foolishly laid it out for dinner, setting the table with care as he had every Friday night for months, but no one was there to eat. It was three weeks since the fight. Three weeks since Chittaphon walked out. 

He puts away his fine china, wraps the uneaten food, and places it beside many other barely eaten bowls of leftovers. 

It had been three weeks since Chittaphon died.

Johnny was a creature of habit. It didn’t matter that the funeral was the next day. He would set the table for two, and he would wait. He would wait, and he would fall asleep beside a bottle of red wine. He would sleep and he’d awaken at an unholy hour of the night, and clean things up. He’d clean things up, and go back to bed.

He’d awaken again, and for a while, he wouldn’t move. It would take time for him to process the emptiness inside and beside him. He would close his eyes, and a cruel semblance of hope would tell him it was all just a bad dream, and Chittaphon would be lying next to him when he rolls over. He would turn over and open his eyes, greeted with an empty bed. 

Johnny was a creature of habit.

His daily scheduled sulk was barely scheduled at all. It came in waves, and his coworkers understood if he had to take more than one smoke break on some days. Shaky hands would hold a third cigarette, then a fourth, but Johnny’s lips still felt lonelier than ever, since a cig was a poor replacement for the warm lips of another.

The guilt came less in waves and more in tsunamis. If he had never been so restricting, maybe Chittaphon wouldn’t have ran. If he let him speak, maybe Chittaphon would have stayed and talked it out. If he had told him he cared about him, would Chittaphon have been so reckless? Would he have gotten behind the wheel intoxicated? Would he still have ended his own life? If Johnny wasn’t himself, maybe he’d still have Chittaphon. Maybe the world would still have Chittaphon. Johnny would trade his life away for another chance. 

And so he resolved that he would.

Johnny unfolds the tablecloth and lays it out. He sets the table and cooks the food, eating his meal alone. He thinks about what he would say to Chittaphon if he was there, and writes everything down. After cleaning up, Johnny takes the page filled with everything he wanted to say, and trudges up the stairs to bed. He opens the drawer of his bedside table and grabs a bottle of pills. Doesn’t matter what kind, he figures, and shuts the drawer, placing his note on the top of of the table. He takes a fistfull of pills with a half finished bottle of water, and lies down in bed with a sigh. He shuts his eyes, thinking about the words he had written.

_ I’m sorry. I didn’t understand then. _

He opens his eyes, and his bedroom is lit only by the natural light outside his window. It’s just after dawn.

_ The monotony of my life was a prison to you, and I was the guard, carelessly swinging the keys in front of your face. _

Johnny shuts them again, feeling that familiar sting of hope. His chest feels tight and begins to burn.

_ I’ve imprisoned myself too, and I understand now.  _

He opens his eyes to see Chittaphon sleeping soundly beside him, face illuminated by the sun.

_ At least now you can be free.  _

Chittaphon stirs, and Johnny feels an ache in his chest incomparable to anything he’s ever felt before. Sitting up, Chittaphon looks down at Johnny with sleepy eyes, and smiles. 

_ Soon, I can be too. Promise you’ll wait for me? _

“I promise,” Chittaphon says, and pulls the comforter up over Johnny’s body. 

Johnny closes his eyes, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
